Street-Racing and Shakespeare
by vitoline
Summary: When Tim Treadless casts Jackson Storm to be Hamlet for the school play, the last thing he expects is an illegal street-racer to come in and take his spot as Jackson's "girlfriend."
1. Chapter 1

_Finally_, Chase thought as he hurriedly gathered his books and lept out his seat. The bell just rung and Chase was usually the first one out of the classroom.

"Not so fast, Mr. Racelott," His English teacher, Mr. Yardley said. "You still owe me an excuse for not being in this year's production of Hamlet."

Chase groaned and slouched under the weight of his books. He hated English, which explained his 53 lates and 24 absences. It was a miracle he even came to class today.

Back at the beginning of the year, Chase made deals with a bunch of teachers. He was notorious for skipping class, and detention just wasn't enough. Mr. Yardley's deal was for Chase to be in the school play if he had over 50 lates.

"Sir, I just can't right now," Chase pouted, his books slipping out from his arms. "I have so much schoolwork, see?"

"Mr. Racelott! Is that a copy of Motor Trendz?" Mr. Yardley inquired strictly, pointing at a magazine that slipped out from his binder.

"Um, no sir," Chase laughed awkwardly. He snatched the magazine from the floor and stuffed it into his pocket, the cover still clearly visible. "Anyways, I'm telling you sir, I hate Shakespeare – it doesn't mean shit to me."

"You made a promise, Chase." Mr. Yardley said calmly. "You need to get out there and participate."

Chase scratched his head and grimaced. Mr. Yardley was right – his life had been going to shit lately. The only thing on his mind was racing. He begged his parents for a car but when they refused, he stubbornly bought his own… for illegal purposes.

Hey, at least he gained a few pounds from street racing.

In cash, that is.

"Let's say I _do_ audition. I might not even get the part," Chase said slowly. "It's futile."

Mr. Yardley simply smiled and shut the lights. "I'm sure you'll make a beautiful Ophelia. And not to worry Chase, you're already in. Tim will help you, I'm sure. Now, off to lunch!"

"Wha- sir!" Chase cried, but his stubborn teacher already left the room.

He had to work with Tim Treadless? The goody two-shoes? Debate team captain?

Sighing, he flipped his skateboard and dragged his feet towards the cafeteria. Whenever he _did_ go to school, something had to make him hate it even more. This time, it was being forced into the school play with people he knew nothing about.

_Life's a beach, but then you drive. _And so it goes.

* * *

"Okay, so you're telling me Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are pretty much useless," Ryan Laney exclaimed, throwing his script in the air. Ryan and Bubba were playing the two fools in _Hamlet_.

"Why do I even try…" Bubba stared at the ground dejectedly. He was secretly hoping to play a more, well, heroic role. His death wasn't even on stage, let alone heroic.

"Oh shut up, those two aren't entirely _useless_," Cam Spinner rolled his eyes from the corner of the stage, nodding at Ryan Laney. "At least they don't get stabbed. This Polonius dude I'm playing? Sketchy as fuck!"

Tim had assembled the cast members in the empty auditorium after school. They were sitting in a circle on the stage, discussing their lines – or, well, their shitty roles.

Ryan and Bubba were best friends, so, Tim thought it fit to make them Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, the two annoying best friends who pretended to be all buddy-buddy with Hamlet. Then there was Cam Spinner, who was, Cam Spinner. Who else would play the role of Polonius, a thirsty old man who spies on people for clout?

"Okay, everybody, settle down," Tim squeaked, his voice drowning in the sound of Ryan and Cam bickering. The two could never shut up. He waved his papers in the air in attempts to get everyone's attention.

Just then, Jackson Storm walked into the room, and Tim had to keep his heart from beating out his chest.

Okay, maybe Tim was overreacting. But he _had_ given the main role of Hamlet to Jackson, mostly because of his die-hard crush on him. That, and he always wanted to direct the play with Hamlet wearing super-tight tights. He was also very sexy and broody.

Jackson's expressionless eyes scanned the little circle of actors. He reluctantly sat down beside Chase Racelott, who was on his stomach, lazily flipping through a car magazine without a care in the world. Although Chase didn't belong, Mr. Yardley insisted that Tim give him a chance.

"I'll repeat the cast one last time, in case anyone forgot," Tim said, clearing his throat. He knew everybody knew their role already, but secretly wanted to see Jackson's reaction when he said his name.

"Laney, Ryan. _Rosencrantz_," Tim began, glancing up. Ryan was still fighting Spinner, with what muscles, Tim didn't know – it was getting physical now. Tim nervously cleared his throat again.

"Uh, Wheelhouse, Bubba. _Guildenstern_."

Bubba rolled his eyes in annoyance.

"Spinner, Cam. _Polonius_."

Cam just stared at the ground.

"Swervez, Danny. _King Claudius_." When silence ensued, Tim looked at the circle suspiciously. He would've heard Danny's bickering by now. "Is Danny here?"

"He's out with some chick," mumbled Chase from his position on the floor, not once looking up from his magazine.

Although Chase didn't know many people, he knew Danny. Heck, everyone knew Danny Swervez – he was the resident class clown, the go-to comedian. Easily one of the more popular kids in the huge school. He had this way of charming the teachers into letting him off the hook whenever he skipped. He could do all the things Chase does in a year and not get caught, let alone get stuck in detention. There was no better way to put it than to say that everyone – teacher or student – simply adored him, and Chase would be lying if he said it didn't piss him off. A lot. Double standards, much.

"Oh yeah, he's with _Cruz_." Ryan snickered like a schoolgirl, eyeing Bubba. They both suppressed some questionable grins.

At this, Jackson fumed and squirmed in his seat, but nobody paid enough attention to notice.

"That's quite alright… just make sure Danny comes next week," Tim nodded at an apathetic Chase, ready to move on to the next cast member.

"Er, Tim Treadless – that's me I suppose, haha – as Horatio. Hamlet's _best friend_." He smiled proudly before noticing something very strange on the cast list. "Oh, uh Chase? it says here you're to play Ophelia? As per requested by Mr. Yardley."

"Huh? Oh yeah. I think it's a female role," Chase replied after a few beats. "Ophelia, yeah. Hamlet's girlfriend?"

Tim nodded, grimacing. He actually hoped Ophelia's role would be eradicated in his version of the play. After all, they were at an all boys high school, and it would be awkward and way too obvious if Tim volunteered himself to be Ophelia (which he totally would). After all, word gets around at Daytona High, and half the school probably suspected Tim to be gay already. So if Tim couldn't play Hamlet's girlfriend, nobody could play Hamlet's girlfriend.

"Chase is _Hamlet's girlfriend_!" Cam Spinner laughed in the delinquent's face. "Have fun with that man!"

Cam slapped his knee and continued snickering as if that was the funniest thing ever. Tim felt anger build up in his chest and Chase's face began to harden.

"What's it to you, Spinner?" Chase made a face. "More lines than you'll ever get."

Cam shut his mouth and stared at the ground. Satisfied, Chase went back to reading his magazine.

Tim inwardly sighed; his headache was killing him. He'd have to do a lot of editing to the script to give Ophelia the least amount of lines with Hamlet as possible. Or find some way to incorporate homosexuality into the play. Or try talking to Jackson for once, outside of practice.

_Screw it_, he thought. He felt tiny, and absolutely pathetic.


	2. Chapter 2

Chase had just run into the gymnasium when he bumped into what felt like a brick wall. Startled, Chase grabbed his hat and looked up to see an angry Mr. Weathers, 6'4 and all muscle – but his normally calm, intimidating composure was breaking down right in front of his least favorite student.

"Well if it isn't Mr. Racelott," Mr. Weathers squinted, eyeing Chase's new hat. Chase had bought it from Team Hendrick Motorsport's merchandise booth from the last NASCAR race he saw, back in October, and it was easily one of his most prized possessions. He'd been following the #24 car ever since he was eight - the first time his dad had ever taken him to a racetrack. It was the beginning of an era, and Chase was trying to accumulate as much Hendrick merch he could get his hands on.

"I'll be taking that," His gruff gym teacher declared, snatching the hat from his hands. "Can't believe you support those Hendrick boys. Utter disgrace... though I did expect that from you, Racelott."

"What the hell's wrong with Team Hendrick?" Chase sputtered, jaw dropping in disbelief and annoyance. "What sir, you a Dinoco fan or something?"

"Don't even get me started young man," His teacher shot back, shoving a finger to his wiry chest. "You think you can drive? Know what _real_ driving is? Team Dinoco remains superior - and that's the tea sis!" He yelled.

"Uh," Chase said, confused.

"I'll be keeping this in my office. You can pick it up when you realize your mistakes." Mr. Weathers said briskly. "Oh, and don't get me started on your absences young man."

Chase threw his hands up and sighed. "Nothing good ever happens here," He said, not even bothering to fight. Knowing Weathers' attitude, he was better off leaving the crime scene.

After leaving his cap with Weathers, he jogged towards the rest of his class. They were all warming up by shooting hoops and messing around with each other.

"No màs," Chase overheard Danny say to his cholos... or whatever he called them. Gang? Cronies? Yeah, cholos.

_No, that's racist, _Chase thought and stopped himself.

The boys all looked up from their game and the basketball immediately dropped from one of their hands. The harsh sound of the ball falling onto the floor echoed throughout the sweaty gym.

Danny's shoes squeaked against the floor. "Yo Racecar," He grinned, picking up the basketball and threw it into his chest. "Showed up today!"

"Yeah man," Chase attempted a smile and bounced it back to him. "Might as well. I'm in deep shit if I don't."

"That's cool," Danny said, thinking. "Hey, sorry about the meeting yesterday. Think you could talk to Treadless for me?"

Chase cocked his head. "About what?" He inquired skeptically.

"I know you and Treadless are tight." Danny grinned again, flashing his stunningly white teeth. No seriously, his teeth were whiter than Chase's entire family.

"I wouldn't put it like that," Chase grimaced. He sneaked a glance behind him as Mr. Weathers furiously approached the class. "What's in it for me?"

"Put in a good word to the boss man?" Danny ignored him and continued happily. "I have another date with my lady tonight."

"RACELOTT!" Mr. Weathers suddenly bellowed, drenched in Bath and Body Works vanilla perfume. He was seething in anger and smelling delicious.

Chase had to bite back a laugh - looks like his prank worked after all. Earlier that day, he sprayed the teacher's entire office and gym clothing with his little sister's old bottle. Warm Vanilla Sugar, was it? Whatever it was, it smelled heavenly and trailed after Mr. Weathers huge, angry frame like fairy dust.

"You knew this would happen, didn't you Racelott?" Mr. Weathers accused menacingly - though it was hard to take him seriously when he smelt like the teenage girl section of A&F. The whole class burst in tears, especially Chase.

"One more late and you're getting payback." He said above the laughter. "We made a deal, Racelott. Don't forget it."

Chase abruptly quit laughing and gulped, petrified. He totally forgot what his side of the deal entailed, and there was no way in _hell_ he'd go through that, even for a hundred bucks.

"Yeah, the football field's looking real nice out there," Mr. Weathers goaded. "Oh, and the hat's staying in my office." He continued, grinning in triumph. "Smells real good, huh."

_Shit_, Chase bit his lip, realizing he spoke too soon.

When Mr. Weathers left to go handle the rest of the class, Danny averted his attention back to his victim. "Tell you what. I'll put in a good word for you to _this_ guy - he loves me by the way," Danny jerked his thumb towards a busy Mr. Weathers. "If you convince my man Treadless to let it slide."

Chase sighed in exasperation, and Danny knew he was in.

"Why'd you sign up for the play anyways, if you're not going to show up?" Chase asked, annoyed that he was giving in so easily. "Is Cruz really that hot?"

"Compa," Danny smiled. "That's like me asking you why you take classes you never attend." He retreated back towards his friends as Mr. Weathers blew his whistle. "Now show me what's up!"

He hurled the ball and it hit Chase square in the face.

_Damn it_, Chase thought to himself, and he collapsed to the floor.

* * *

As soon as Tim got home, he dumped his backpack on the floor and flipped open his laptop.

_Is Hamlet gay?_ He typed into the search bar, eager to see what other people thought about it. But it was stupid – he already knew the answer.

"Honey, are you hungry?" His mom asked, and Tim fumbled to shut his laptop. When he turned around, he realized she was only calling him from downstairs.

"Uh, no I'm good, thanks!" Tim shook his head, imagining how crazed and embarrassed he would've been if his mom was actually at his door, his jacket still on and everything.

He focused on the screen and scrolled through the results. There were countless blogs written by teenage girls who only cared about the character's sexuality, something Tim was definitely not interested in. Tim learned a long, long time ago that there was virtually fanfic for _everything_. He imagined what it'd be like to read fanfic about him being gay if he was a fictional character. Talk about _weird._ He skipped through many sites before finally finding something that seemed credible.

"Hamlet's sexuality isn't described, isn't important, and simply isn't in the play…" Tim murmured to himself, reading off a popular internet forum. "It's a play that is rather uninterested in sexuality."

Tim frowned. It wasn't wrong… but it still hurt to hear.

The more he thought about it, the more absurd he sounded. Of course Hamlet wasn't gay. There was absolutely nothing in the play that indicated he was queer. Even if he was straight, he treated his girlfriend like shit. He might've been in love with his mom, for all he knew. Hamlet just wasn't focused on love and romance. He was too busy standing in a corner brooding about the fratricide of his dad and a possible afterlife.

But there was just something so, incredibly sexy about a poetic, mysterious prince who couldn't bring himself to kill somebody… just like the enigmatic Jackson Storm.

Tim blamed his infatuation for Jackson on literary characters – he was definitely setting himself up for disappointment.

Crestfallen, he closed his laptop, fell back onto his bed and flipped through the pages of his copy of the play. The last thing he needed to worry about was the sexuality of fictional characters. Shakespeare didn't even write them with a certain sexuality. They were just _characters_. Tim had a whole freaking play to direct and here he was on his bed, determined to edit what shouldn't be edited. He was _not_ going to let this little snag get in the way of his love for theater. He had all his cast, crew and scenes planned out. And Shakespeare, the genius himself, had written all their lines for them. He had an amazing team and they were going to pull this shit off! What more could he ask for?

* * *

"So you're telling me," Tim said flatly. "That Danny's not here. Again."

Chase looked him dead in the eye. "Yep." He said, popping the "p." There was an eerie calm as Tim remained dead silent.

"I can't believe this shi – WHY?" Tim finally shouted, his arms sputtering about his sides. "You realize he hasn't been here _once_!"

"I'm sorry okay? I didn't cast him," Chase raised his hands in surrender. "Chill out, it's only the second practice."

"I need to have a talk with his girlfriend." Tim declared. "Does she know _this_," He pointed towards the stage. "Is going on?"

"I only know what you know," Chase replied calmly. It looked like he and Tim were on surprisingly good terms; they bonded over Danny's absences.

"Okay, this is fine. This is fine." Tim tried to calm down. He paused. "You know Chase, I don't ask for much."

"I know."

"He plays the King, you know?"

"I know."

"I mean, it's not hard to come out – he's the King after all. His role is easy. Everyone likes him!"

"Tell me about it."

Chase was pulled away from his one-sided conversation with Tim when Jackson walked over and poked Chase's shoulder. He recoiled immediately, as if Chase was harboring some sort of disease.

"I was looking over the script," Jackson said slowly as the pair stared at Tim, who was frantically pacing back and forth, talking to himself. Chase was momentarily caught off guard by Jackson's deep voice.

"Uh huh," Chase said, suddenly raising a brow when Tim bumped into the chair that Cam Spinner was taking a nap on. The two simultaneously averted their eyes. Chase did _not_ want to see what happened next. Instead, he focused on Jackson.

Chase thought he was tall, but he was nothing compared to the boy in front of him. It was the first time in his entire high school career that he saw Jackson's face for what it was.

(In reality, Chase was just average height, but he hated to admit it. He was underweight and looked tired. So, so tired.)

The older student had slightly curly, dark brown hair, so dark it was almost black – or was it black hair that was so light it was almost brown? He always knew Jackson's eyes looked unique, and concluded this to his very faintly folded eyelids. His eyebrows were thin and straight, pointing up at a small angle and curving downwards at the very end, in fact, two words to perfectly describe his face would be sculpted and angular. His glasses gently fell down his sloped nose bridge as he looked down at Chase. Chase noticed he envied Jackson because he actually looked like he had his shit together.

"…and I think we need to practice together," Jackson finished hesitantly.

Chase frowned, hardly catching what he just said. "We are right now."

Jackson nodded. "I know. Outside of school, I said."

Chase didn't say anything for a while. "This play mean a lot to you?"

It was Jackson's turn to frown. "I'm the main character."

"Okay," Chase said.

"Okay," Jackson said.

"You're pretty important then, huh?"

"Hamlet is."

"So if you screw up, the whole play's screwed."

"Not necessarily."

"Yeah, for sure it is. You're 70% of the play."

"What are you saying?"

"Nothing."

"I actually care about what I do," Jackson countered.

"So you don't embarrass yourself on stage." Chase remarked simply.

"And? What exactly is the point of this conversation? I am practicing with you outside of school. Done."

"I know." Chase smirked. "I just like hearing your voice."

Then he walked away to break up the argument between Treadless and Spinner.


	3. Chapter 3

Chase had never been claustrophobic before, but the overwhelming smell of gasoline, unholy body odor and over-applied cologne washed over him like a tidal wave. Bodies moving together, like shoals of fish, pushed him further down the street; he was drowning, and panic he'd never felt before began to pool up in his throat.

Only seconds ago was he with his car, taking in the energy of the night, allowing the laughter to flood over him – until from behind came the shrill of a police siren, startling the seething crowd and awaking every fiber of his being.

He loved this city, this energy, this _vibe_, the danger that came along with street-racing. Even though he took a quarter of the attention during races, he still somehow felt invisible, like he was constantly behind the scenes – proving just how hidden everything was – well, until police sirens began exploding in his ears like bombs dropping on the street.

He suddenly felt a familiar rush of adrenaline and his whole body screamed at him to run into a random car and get the hell out.

He bottled the rising panic deep into his chest and hastily found his teammate, Rich Mixon, who was stumbling over several bodies to get to his car, a faded 2007 Chevy Corvette Z06. Just as Rich flew in and started the ignition, Chase yanked open the door and held onto Rich's arm, yelling _go, go go_. Rich didn't have to say anything – he simply glanced at Chase with wide eyes and surged forward, providing a path for the other street racers to follow.

As soon as they fled the alley, Chase caught a glimpse of Boost's car in the rear-view mirror and felt a teensy bit better. Boost was one of the two racers who usually led the pack, and he had no idea if Snot Rod, the other gang leader, was even here. Looked like he had to trust Rich and his driving skills for now.

"Shit Rich, the car," Chase breathed, his entire body in flames as they sped down the street. "The tire, it's this tire."

"What?" Rich yelled nervously, the pattern of traffic lights blurring his vision. He was only vaguely aware of Chase next to him; he was too busy focusing on the steering wheel lighting his fingers on fire. They were speeding down the alleyway at 90 mph and Chase couldn't help but cackle like a madman, cheeks flushed with excitement, always high off the buzz of breaking the speed limit.

"The tire Rich, we're lowered!" Chase yelled, a heartbeat pounding inside his brain, though he wasn't sure whose. "The – coil – springs," He glanced in the mirror in between breaths. "They're cut, Rich, I lowered it, the tire!"

Rich kept driving – they were so close to escaping and nobody behind them could afford to slow down. For a split-second Chase thought Rich hadn't heard him – he was seconds from shouting again when Rich swore loudly and swerved towards the back road, aiming for Boost's hidden garage. The sharp hiss escaping the front right tire confirmed Rich's thoughts.

"Ah shit, you – fuckin – idiot!" Rich panted. "I _told_ you – "

The edge of the wheel well scraped against the tire, temporarily disarming Rich. Refusing to lose control, Rich tightly gripped the steering wheel, knuckles glowing white-hot. The tire shrieked on contact with the wheel well as he jolted the wheel back upright, attempting to maneuver the car back onto the road.

Chase held his breath for a millisecond. All at once, time seemed to return in full-force as Rich threw themselves towards the garage like a wounded soldier. He could just see it from the corner of his eye, like a bug on the windshield.

"It's no big deal," Chase convinced himself, the faint outline of the garage sedating him like a drug. "We're almost there."

* * *

Chase relaxed his head against the wall. "I know, and _I'm sorry_," He repeated. "I wasn't thinking."

A muffled voice came back through the phone. Chase cocked his head to let it rest on his shoulder and turned on the water to the sink. He was currently under the pretense of taking a humongous shit in the bathroom.

"I know Boost, I'll take care of it," He whispered again, unwilling to spend too much time on the phone. "Goodnight chief," He said, and before Boost could yell back, he abruptly hung up and exited the bathroom.

Chase had been staying at his uncle's in Florida for almost three years now. His parents had separated when he was young, and from what he heard, they now lived in entirely different states. His mom was arrested when he was only five, so he lived with his dad in Georgia – until his dad's job as a truck driver forced him to move into his uncle's apartment. Luckily, he entered high school at the same time as everyone else, so the move wasn't too nerve-racking.

His uncle was the polar opposite of his dad; even though they lived ten miles away from the DIS, he'd never taken Chase to a NASCAR race. Sometimes, when his dad came to visit, they'd go, but Chase had long ago lost the thrill of watching races. Little did Chase's dad know that his son resorted to driving in races instead.

Chase lumbered to his bedroom and checked the time. 12:42 am. His uncle was busy upstairs, _probably_ disappointed that his nephew came home late again doing drugs.

There was a dull, persistent ache in his muscles, probably from tensing up earlier in the vehicle. As stupid as it sounded, he didn't have a driver's permit yet – he was still 16, and his birthday was in late November. Rich was a year his senior, and they both only had like $12 combined anyway – so they shared the Corvette.

Boost specifically told them not to make mods without confirming it with him first, but Chase, being the idiot that he was, tried lowering the car thinking it was easy as hell. He didn't even tell Rich, which was a bit inconsiderate on his part. Rich confronted him about it as soon as he pulled up to the back road, but he was honestly never the type to be overtly angry about things… as long as Chase acknowledged his mistake.

His phone lit up, alerting Chase of a new message. _Attention whore_, Rich said with the yawning emoji. _Mods are for performance dumbass not your personal aesthetic._

Chase rolled his eyes and half-smirked. He pulled his clothes off, shut the lights and flopped onto the bed. _Night_, he texted back, already dreading waking up the next morning.

* * *

Tim plodded down the halls of Daytona High, allowing his shoes to drag the floor with absolutely no discretion. His chemistry lab had left him drained and exhausted – he was partnered with Ryan Laney, if that didn't explain enough.

Tim pushed open the library door. He had a crap ton of things to do before going home and taking a nap, and his study hall was last period anyways.

As soon as the door slammed shut, the library's cool AC swept over him. The whole room was silent except for the quiet, rhythmic tapping on computer keyboards. Tim loved the delicate calm of the library; anyone who enters one temporarily transforms into a much softer, respectful being, if only for a few minutes.

Tim adjusted himself into one of the seats and carefully placed his laptop and textbooks on the table. His chem teacher was brutal. They had a back-to-back lab and test, which meant their test was tomorrow. He barely had time to study, and it was a unit he wasn't too confident in – nomenclature of organic chemistry. Needless to say, he was pretty excited to get straight to work.

He had just logged into his computer when suddenly Ryan Laney, ex lab-partner, _dangerous_ con-man, barged in. He was talking exceptionally loudly to a friend, someone who Tim couldn't recognize. The entire library looked up and coldly glared at the two, including Mrs. Carrera, the librarian.

_Don't look at me. Don't look at me_, Tim repeated under his breath. He did his best to hide behind his computer screen, but to no avail.

"Tim!" Ryan shouted, forming a goofy smile.

Tim returned a very tight-lipped smile.

"Mind if we sit here?" Ryan asked, already in his seat. He motioned for his friend to sit down.

"Go ahead," Tim said meekly.

"We know you're busy studying, so we won't bother you, don't worry." Ryan assured, loudly as possible. He looked over at Tim's papers and frowned. "Oh. Why you doin' _chem_?"

"I'm not ready for the test," Tim blushed, looking down. It had been his own fault, after all.

Ryan stared incredulously at his friend, then back at Tim. "_Test?_"

_Oh Lord, _Tim thought. "Did you forget?" He laughed nervously.

"Oh man, you've got to help me." Ryan whisper-screamed. "I don't know anything!"

Tim internally sighed. If he were to exhale, he could blow up a balloon.

"He's busy Ryan," His friend whispered, tugging on Ryan's shirt. He was sneaking glances at Tim and Mrs. Carrera and kind of got the message. "Let's go before she kicks us out."

Ryan hesitated. "I'm screwed," He mumbled, finally getting up from his seat and slinging his backpack over his shoulder. "I don't know anything."

"Same. Sorry I couldn't really help," Tim made a face, somewhat relieved that he didn't have to worry about Ryan anymore. He glanced at the other boy and smiled in gratitude. His white shirt accentuated his ocean-blue eyes.

"Let's go Flip," Ryan said, heading towards the door, ignoring the steely gaze of the librarian. Flip nodded and tagged along, waving back at Tim. His blue eyes seemed to sparkle, like they were sharing a conversation only they knew.

"Bye Tim," Ryan said casually. They both walked out of the room.

"Bye," Tim replied quietly, attention on the boy with the shy, sapphire eyes.


	4. Chapter 4

_Act I Scene II. A room of state in the castle. _

"Everyone in position!" Tim ordered, clapping his hands. "Let's go, _let's go_!"

The entire cast was in a state of frenzy; Cam Spinner walked by with a huge box of Styrofoam swords when he bumped into Tim and lost balance. Annoyed, Cam glared at the swords that haphazardly fell out of the box.

Tim rolled his eyes and knelt down to help him. "It's okay Cam," He comforted the taller boy. "You're in this scene, remember?"

Cam beamed and picked up the items with newfound vigor.

On the other side of the auditorium, Bubba Wheelhouse bounded down the steps to the stage. He was out of breath and definitely overworking his… muscles. "Came fast as I could, Tim," Bubba panted, looking sincerely apologetic. "I couldn't find Ryan anywhere. Sorry for letting you down!"

"No no Bubba, it's okay," Tim reassured his giant of a friend by patting him on the back. "Don't worry, your roles aren't important right now. Shh, it's okay."

Bubba's entire chest heaved as he wiped away his tears, nodding in agreement. He solemnly walked away and sat in a random seat.

Meanwhile, Chase and Jackson were leaning against the back wall behind the curtains, going over Jackson's lines together. It was much quieter and easier for Jackson to focus in the back, despite the muffled screams and laughter. In Act I Scene II, the two main characters with the most lines were King Claudius and Hamlet, and since Ophelia wasn't in this scene at all, Chase decided to use his time wisely to help Jackson out.

"But I have that within which passeth show, these but the trappings and the suits of woe." Jackson gulped anxiously and looked up at Chase. "Was that fine?"

Chase shut his eyes and hesitated. "Uh – again?"

Jackson cleared his throat and spoke a little louder. "But I have that within which passeth show, these but the tra – "

"Okay, woah woah WOAH," Chase winced, unable to open his eyes. "Dude, _no_ emotion. You need that in a Shakespeare play, know what I'm sayin'?"

Jackson's eyebrows furrowed in concentration. "Right."

Chase stared, urging him to continue. Jackson began to speak, but was caught off by a cheerful voice blasting from a megaphone.

"But I have that within – "

"Okay let's get this show on the road!" Tim, the source of the noise, exclaimed jovially from the front of the stage. Chase and Jackson jumped in surprise. The velvet curtains swung open and the pair was caught in the blinding spotlight.

"Oh, _there_ you are, I was wondering where my Hamlet was," Tim smiled sheepishly at Jackson and Chase, masking his disappointment with false happiness. If there was one thing Tim was proud of, it would be his poker face; he wasn't an accredited actor for no reason. Theatre gave him something to look forward to, a chance to temporarily get lost into someone else's world, a reason to forget about his own problems and fully immerse into someone else's.

Chase casually hopped down from the stage. He winked at the director and settled into an empty seat. "All the world's a stage, eh Treadless?"

Tim looked at him in wonder. "Where the men and women are merely players…" He trailed off confusedly. "But that's Shakespeare. How...?"

Suddenly, the spotlight panned onto Jackson, who was frozen atop the stage. His dainty glasses were sliding down his nose bridge.

He looked like he wanted to say something important, but the thunder of footsteps drowned out anything he could've said; Ryan had just run into the auditorium, an angelic Flip Dover in tow. Flip's usual happy-go-lucky smile was plastered on his face, only today, he was wearing a pink dress shirt.

Chase could only hear bits and pieces of Ryan's long speech explaining his late. It mostly consisted of him waiting for Flip in front of the music room. Apparently Flip, the blue-eyed boy, played clarinet in band, and was relying on Ryan to give him a ride to a university entrance audition.

"This is really important." Ryan stated matter-of-factly. "It means a lot to Flip."

Flip nodded like a puppy.

Chase slouched in his seat and idly flipped through Motor Trendz' November edition. He knew Flip from grade school, but merely listened without turning around; he doubted Flip remembered him. Flip was too pure and wholesome, and the last time they even talked was in freshman year.

"I, uh – sure." Tim stammered, blushing for some reason. "Yeah, for sure. You and Bubba aren't in this scene, so don't sweat it. Uh, good luck Flip!"

"Oh I don't care about _that_," Ryan said, shooing the thought away. "I thought you were gonna yell at me like you did with Danny! Never mind then."

Tim paled and time stood still. "_Danny_," He breathed slowly, realizing Cruz robbed them of Danny's presence again. Ryan hesitated and glanced back at Cam, who motioned him to leave quietly before Tim blew up. He hastily dragged an unsuspecting Flip out of the auditorium before shutting the door.

After a long practice filled with exasperated sighs from Tim, belly laughter from Cam, and awkward filler words from Jackson, the crew finally agreed to call it a day and pack up. Since Danny, aka King Claudius wasn't here, Jackson was forced to rehearse with a life-sized dummy Cam had fished out of the box with Styrofoam swords. They had all got a riot out of that, at least. Bubba laughed so hard he collapsed and helplessly spilt Transberry Juice all over the seat.

It had been an overall successful day for Tim, albeit an exhausting one, especially after the chem test earlier. Thankfully he was confident with most of his answers, with the exception of one super complicated question at the end. He had completely forgotten about it, until Chase walked up to him and asked him what he got.

"Um, I don't remember – the carboxyl one, right?" Tim clutched his forehead. "Ah sorry, it completely flew over my head."

It was an unexpected, yet pleasant surprise that Chase was taking chemistry as well. Tim scolded himself for thinking that way, he was probably in the morning class and Tim was too oblivious to know it. He didn't peg Chase for a chemistry type of guy, is all.

"That _one question_," Chase wandered blithely, scratching his head. "Wonderin' if you knew. S'alright, see you."

The boys filed out one by one, most of them calling their parents to pick them up. Tim was satisfied with today's progress, mostly because he loved theatre and the sense of community that came along with it. He was starting to feel a bit of that today, even though they were missing a couple members.

He got ready to turn off all the lights, but his hands were already full; he was carrying the box overflowing with props, and it towered over his tiny frame. He almost didn't notice the tall figure standing in front of him.

"I got it," Jackson said, flipping the light switch with a finger, almost overbearingly. Tim was glad the box hid his flushed cheeks. He had his chance of staring at Jackson while he was up on stage, but now that the man himself was two feet away from him, the intensity felt different – if he reached out, he could touch him. Again, thankful for the box that prevented him from doing so.

"What a gentleman," Chase joked sarcastically, slapping Tim on the back from behind. He grabbed the box and shifted his weight to hold it correctly, leaving Tim's blushing face out for the whole world to see. Tim muttered a thank you, led them out of the dark, and headed towards the storage room. Jackson was still following them, rather reluctantly.

"I could've held that," Jackson piped in. "Please don't think I'm not _strong_ enough, or anything of the sort."

Tim turned around to deny his accusations, but Jackson was addressing Chase.

Chase simply rolled his eyes at the self-confident 17-year-old. "So when's Ophelia up next?" He asked Tim, completely ignoring Jackson's snide comment.

"I'm thinking the next practice." Tim said softly, embodying an entirely different persona than before. He was leading the trio but was clearly the least sure of themselves.

"Here, let me lighten the load," Jackson insisted Chase, plucking a styrofoam sword out of the box.

"Gee thanks, that helps," Chase retorted at his ridiculousness. He couldn't tell if he was being serious or not. If he was, then he overestimated Jackson's sense of humour.

Chase rolled his eyes for the fifth time, grunted under the weight of the box, and craned his head to face Tim. "I actually practiced my lines."

"Sure you did," Jackson bit back, leaving no room for Tim to reply. Tim assumed Chase was simply joking around with that last comment.

Tim wiped his palms on his pants. "It's here," He gestured meekly at the storage room. The door from the inside of the auditorium was locked, so they had to walk all the way around. Tim silently wondered when Jackson and Chase got so comfortable with each other – not that they were suddenly buddies, but Jackson certainly didn't regard Chase with the same disdain as last week. It wasn't like they practiced outside of school, or anything… had they? Tim chastised himself for thinking something so absurd as that would happen.

Tim's keys jangled as he unlocked the door and Chase hefted the box inside. It landed with a rather dull and anticlimactic thud.

"Well I guess that's it," Chase interrupted Tim's train of thought. The trio lamely stood at the door and stared at the box.

Later, as Tim's mom pulled up to the school, he caught a glimpse of Jackson and Chase heading towards the student parking lot together. He carefully stepped into his mom's Nissan and shook the rainwater off his umbrella.

After they locked up the storage room, Chase mentioned to Jackson that _his car was at a garage, and he didn't want to wait at a bus stop in the rain, so could he pretty please give him a ride? _Jackson grudgingly obliged, having gotten his license already, and his car was smack in the middle of the parking lot_._ At first, he told him to walk home, and with a stony expression like that, they both thought he was serious.

_Should've asked me_ – but Tim had no idea how to drive and his mom was on a busy schedule. In truth, he was a chicken. A high school _senior,_ for Christ's sake, quite possibly the only one not itching to drive. He doubted that Chase, who was a year younger, already had a drivers license, let alone his own _car_ to leave at the garage in the first place. Tim told himself that he was way too preoccupied with classes and maintaining his stellar grades to focus on that crap. He also didn't trust himself not to road rage and face certain death on the highway.

* * *

The next morning, Chase got a short text from Rich. He inwardly sighed and slipped his phone back into his pocket before Mr. Yardley walked over.

Apparently Boost wanted them at the garage to build a whole new engine, plus, they all had to work out some numbers and logistics. Chase drove for the hell of it, but he'd be lying if he said he wasn't in desperate need of cash, too. Even though they shared the Corvette, Rich had more experience, meaning he got priority over races and more bets. Since Rich and Chase were still pretty young, dumb and broke, Boost pays for the cash entry fees, and if one of his kids win, he gets a sizable cut himself. This means that "his kids" get very little money for themselves than if they were to pay up front without the boss-man. Nevertheless, Chase was close to nothing without Boost in the grand scheme of things; Boost's recruits were referred to as… works in progress.

Chase briefly glanced to his left. Lo and behold, Danny Swervez's empty seat, that was visibly collecting dust. _He needs to give up the Cruz excuse,_ Chase thought, but who was he to judge? He chose a part-time job over going to class earlier in the year. He was the last person to have a say in anything.

Chase put himself in Danny's shoes. Likewise, he probably had a good reason as to why he didn't go to class. Chase _did_ care about school, and grades, and his future or whatever – it just wasn't his number one priority, and it hadn't been, for a very long time. He was just… preoccupied with other life things, that were, unfortunately, way more complicated than they needed to be. He trusted Danny would be the same. There was a reason for everything, and it would be hypocritical for Chase to assume otherwise. When put that way, a bad attendance didn't sound_ too_ irresponsible.

It was really none of his business… but he hoped Danny was doing alright.

**A/N: I'm using american and british spelling at the same time hahaha sorry if that's not your favourite (favorite).**

**tfw people at work see your screen and ask if you're writing a book... no just writing cars fanfic ._. **


	5. Chapter 5

"So what'll it be then, love? The usual?" Flo, the chef at the local diner, grinned at Tim from behind the counter. Tim loved Flo almost as much as her burgers, and she knew it and loved him right back.

"The usual please," Tim said, fishing out coins from his wallet. A frantic thought crossed his mind that he wouldn't have enough, but Flo dismissed it with a flourish gesture to avoid him of the embarrassment of holding up the line.

"It's enough sweetie," she said. Her matte lipstick accentuated the wrinkles on her lips when she smiled, and Tim had to fight back a grimace. He mentally slapped himself for being slightly grossed out by it – this lady was being the kindest person on earth to him and he reprimanded himself for being so rude.

Tim waited off to the side for his burger. Flo's Diner was a hotspot for the students of Daytona High because it gave student discounts every Friday. Finding a restaurant with delicious food that wouldn't empty his pockets was hard enough, and the last thing he wanted was his bank account hitting rock-bottom again. Not to mention the atmosphere being the coziest in the city; the 80s themed pastel tones amped up the comfy factor by a notch.

As he grabbed his milkshake and got ready to go, someone impatiently chipped him on the shoulder. It was Cam.

"The guys wanted ketchup," he said, awkwardly blocking Tim's path. At this point, he knew Cam was being awkward on purpose to piss him off. He nodded pleasantly, but the look on his face betrayed his true beliefs. He didn't expect more from Cam Spinner.

When Tim got back to their table, ketchup + napkins stowed in one hand and burger + milkshake in the other, Bubba applauded Tim's spidey-senses; his hands were shaking under the pressure of carrying four things at once, including a very fragile glass drink. He slid into the seat next to Ryan, nearly spilling the drink all over his fake Gucci shirt.

"Hey don't touch the Gucci!" Ryan raised his hands in defense, inching towards the wall. A feeble attempt to salvage his shirt, at best. Cam quickly reached out and caught the milkshake before all hell broke loose.

Cam smirked and thus began yet another argument on who owned the most designer crap. Turns out Cam had an entire stash of Comme des Garcons shirts, but was too afraid to wear them in fear of getting them ruined. Ryan was appalled at this fact.

"That defeats the purpose of buying them," Ryan pointed out, stuffing a fry into his mouth. "To flex."

Tim bit into his burger and let the heavenly taste consume him. He tried to zone out of their mindless conversation, but of course Bubba _had_ to join in, and so did he, between bites.

"Well I think spending money on some white shirt is stupid," Bubba sang, ice clinking as he rolled his drink absently in his hands. "I mean, seriously, spend that on a car, or a plane ticket. _To Abu Dhabi_."

"Oh miss me with that car bullshit," Tim mumbled bitterly through a mouthful of angus beef. Apparently, he was still not over last night's predicament – Chase deciding to elope with Jackson in the student parking lot. "That's all you guys talk about these days. Cars. Seriously people! It's getting old."

Cam's eyes narrowed skeptically. "To be fair, I have not brought up _anything _about cars." He pointed playfully at a distracted Ryan. "Hey, Ferrari won last Sunday! Hand the money over."

"Mmmprh!" Ryan suddenly yelled in response, ketchup dripping from his mouth like blood. Two French fries were lodged in between his teeth, like a walrus. Tim gasped in horror and hurled napkins into his hands at full tilt.

"Ah gross," Bubba recoiled from his safe side of the booth. "You'd think I'd be used to Ryan's weirdness by now, but guess not."

The four continued on like this, throwing napkins at Ryan, having stupid banter that held no significant meaning. Ryan frantically leaned forward and desperately at wiped his mouth and hands, but no matter how hard he tried, the damage was already done. Somehow, a ketchup stain had ended up on his shirt sleeve. Tim and Cam's eyes pinpointed the stain at the exact same time and panic rushed through them both.

Cam smirked and threw his hands up as if to say_ Whatever. He'll figure it out_.

He sure didn't expect more from Cam Spinner.

* * *

Later that night, Tim retreated to bed earlier than usual – if he could even call it that. For him, "going to bed" mainly consisted of reading fanfiction and mindlessly scrolling through social media for hours. When he was a freshman, he used to boast about spending only five minutes on his phone a day to whoever was close enough to listen. Now, all he had to do was lie in bed and the damn thing would light up, reminding him of his failure to restrict himself for five_ hours _a day_._

If you ignored all that Shakespeare crap, Tim was pretty much like any other teen.

(Of course, Tim felt in his heart that he was allowed to say things like "crap" or "shit" regarding Shakespeare, considering the sheer amount of free time he'd spent studying the crap out of his sonnets. He couldn't help it; he was a hopeless romantic. If anyone else talked that way about his favorite works, he honestly might cry. It wasn't his fault literature got him through the hardest times of his life, providing both the perfect distraction and dreamscape… uh, he wasn't sure if those were good reasons.)

Tim slid under the covers and adjusted his position so he was wrapped up like a blanket burrito. He took one last sip of his iced water before setting the cup on his bedside table and getting comfy. It was going to be a good Friday night.

He opened his ao4 account and looked for some updates from his favourite authors. Tim liked to think he lived and breathed fanfiction. The strange looks he received from his classmates when they saw him reading fanfiction only spurred him to read more; he wasn't ashamed of it at all, instead, he fully _embraced _being an avid fanfiction reader and writer. His OTP wasn't that popular amongst the fandom, and someone had to fill the void. And hey, it was his classmates' fault for looking over his shoulder all the time. _Out of sight, out of mind._

After reading ten chapters of a modern Hamlet story, he reluctantly moved on to his next victim: Instagram. He was dangerously close to reaching his five-hour limit, and self-control was slipping out of his fingers every second. He'd spent more time taking breaks in between chapters to agonize over the main pairing in the story than actually reading the fic. It was _that_ good. Unfortunately, that only meant he had fifteen minutes left to spend on social media.

"It's not like I get notifications anyway," he grumbled. Tim was a fairly private person and he mostly used social media to follow close friends, actors, actresses and meme accounts. Occasionally he stalked people… tonight was one of those nights.

He typed in a "J" and almost immediately jacksonstorm popped up on _Recently Searched._ Leave it to Jackson to have a boring Instagram username that everyone could find. Tim reminded himself to erase his search history to save himself from future embarrassment.

Hm, new profile picture, Tim nodded approvingly. He squinted to make out the blurry photo in the dark. It was a beautiful picture of… the road at night. Yellow lines and everything. Except featured in this beautiful picture of the road was a skateboard, some cool dude shoes, and two inches of his pants.

_Boring!_ Tim snickered. _But still ten times better than last month._ October's was one of those half-selfies where only your eyes and the top part of your hair show up. Still, he'd spent a _lot_ of time staring at it.

Instead of a skateboard, that one featured his ex-girlfriend. Tim deduced that the two of them were at some type of park and Jackson caught her off guard by snapping a pic from below. Her eyebrows knit together as if to menacingly say, "Delete that, Storm!" And when he winked, it was like he was including everyone in on a secret. "Too late, I got her."

Tim shuddered and kept scrolling. A tight knot began to form in the pit of his stomach.

No new posts. One new story.

Another boring screenshot of some EDM playlist. Tim would probably listen to it tomorrow morning and spend his entire five hours of screentime on it.

It wasn't like Jackson was Mr. Popular anyways; Tim didn't know why he even went through his account so frequently. It was as if Instagram made Tim feel like he knew the real Jackson Storm, no matter how impossible that was. The whole ordeal was seriously screwing with his brain.

Maybe he just liked laughing at people? He did that plenty whenever Jackson posted a new photo (not before taking a screenshot). Was it even normal to laugh at a person's posts _because_ you are so desperately in love with them? Tim brushed it off as some type of coping mechanism, because deep down, he knew that Jackson Storm would forever be unattainable to him, at least in this universe.

So mysterious, so dangerous, so hard to read. So… unknown to him? Suddenly, his blanket burrito didn't feel so comforting anymore.

He scrolled back up. _Out of sight, out of mind,_ he breathed slowly.

Just as he was about to exit, a flash of sky-blue caught his attention. He clicked on the suggested profile and soon realized it was someone he recognized. Although the account was private, it wouldn't take a genius to put two and two together. Tim smiled a little when he saw the clever username: flippedover.

"DHS '21. Regional Youth Orchestra." Tim read Flip's bio. "I accept cash in the form of memes or tiktoks."

Tim let himself laugh, for real this time. Even though Flip looked shy, Ryan Laney was friends with him for a reason. Looks like they shared the same sarcastic sense of humor.

His gaze was naturally drawn back to the electric flash of blue in Flip's profile picture that attracted him in the first place. It was another half-selfie, but the background was a calm, crystal clear beach, bright sunlight bouncing off the rippling waves. Flip was on a boat with a younger, almost identical copy of himself, who Tim assumed was his little brother.

The one eye that did make the half-selfie shined bluer than the ocean in clear summer. Tim didn't have to squint, adjust the brightness, or bring the phone closer. There was Flip, clear as day. It was all Tim could focus on.

Tim thought back to Jackson and hesitated. He normally didn't fall for boys with blue eyes. Normally.

He didn't realize how much time had gone by until his phone lit up with a new notification that startled him.

_You have exceeded your daily limit. Shutting down in 30 seconds. _

"Fuck this app."

Lord Byron would be furious.


End file.
